


Memories (or conversations with me, myself and I)

by Khalehla



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Mild Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Rival Relationship, Sexual Humor, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:37:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6245503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khalehla/pseuds/Khalehla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>‘Just do it,’</i> his brain orders for the hundredth time, <i>‘you’d expect him to at least send a text if you were in his shoes.’</i></p><p><i>‘I wouldn’t!’</i> Marc objects, not even considering the irrationality of arguing with himself over this.<br/>--<br/>Marc-André being awkwardly caring</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories (or conversations with me, myself and I)

He hears the news halfway through training, when Rafinha comes up to him during the break.

“Did you hear?” his friend asks.

Marc-André wants to roll his eyes, because unlike his teammates, he could survive without looking at his phone every free chance he got, so no, he didn’t hear the news yet, whatever it was. “No.”

“You should check your phone,” Rafinha urges, his face concerned.

It’s out of character enough that Marc does so, and has to suppress a groan. It’s about Bernd; amateur video footage showing the Leverkusen keeper trying to push people out of the fray into safety during a protest gone awry and being threatened for his troubles. Apparently, he was hurt enough that he’d been given compulsory medical leave, meaning he would be benched for the game on the weekend. Knowing Bernd as well as he does, Marc's pretty sure that the other keeper wouldn’t have taken that well – playing football was his primary outlet for both fun and stress relief, and being denied it even for a week would probably have more of an adverse effect on him than an actually help.

The media reaction is, naturally, probably exaggerated, hence the ridiculous amount of exposure to the incident; Bernd would hate it, but it’s expected given he was being lauded for his actions.

“Have you heard from him?” Rafinha prods.

“No.”

“You should call him.”

Marc thinks about it for the rest of the day, but decides to do nothing. His phone had practically exploded with social media notifications, and he can imagine that Bernd’s would have been ten times worse. If the keeper was answering his phone at all, it would be a miracle, and one more text message would be lost in an ocean of them, so there would really be no point.

But of course his brain doesn’t agree and Marc’s been lying awake in bed for three hours already and he’s _still_ arguing with his brain about whether getting in contact would even be appropriate.

 _‘Just do it_ ,’ his brain orders for the hundredth time, ‘ _you’d expect him to at least send a text if you were in his shoes_.’

 _‘I wouldn’t!’_ Marc objects, not even considering the irrationality of arguing with himself over this.

 _‘You’re going to do it anyway, just get it over and done with so we can_ _finally sleep.’_

Okay since his brain is being an annoying shit and he can't sleep anyway, he may as well give in to his conscience and at least send a text. So he does, but not before insisting ‘ _this is going to be a bad idea.’_

 **Fr. MAtS:** Are you okay?

The reply comes almost immediately.

 **To MAtS:** No.

 _Fuck_ , Marc thinks, because now he’s definitely not going to sleep any time soon. The fact that Bernd even replied at two in the morning and was being _honest_ about it, was evidence enough that things were worse than they seemed. He sits on his response for a few minutes, before making a decision.

 **Fr. MAtS:** Do I need to fly up?

Compared to the first response, it’s a full seventeen minutes before the second one comes in.

 **To MAtS:** Yes.

 _Fuck. Shit._ _This is going to be a bad idea_ , Marc thinks repeatedly as he gets out of bed to grab his laptop. Once he finalises his flights and texts the details to Bernd, he starts questioning his sanity – _their_ sanity.

The last time they did this – seek comfort – what followed was months of radio silence that was only broken when Jogi called them up again for the NT, which, naturally, was awkward as hell until they had finally resolved the tension the only way they knew how. Since then, their cosy little arrangement had been going as though there hadn’t been that awful break in the first place, but if what followed this new situation was months and months again of nothing, then Marc was absolutely _done_ with it all; there was no way he was going to keep going back to that type of stress – he had better things to spend his energy on.

Because the only available flight at such short notice was at the godawful time of 6.00 hours, Bernd picks him up from the airport early enough for them to have a quiet breakfast, and Marc takes the time to really look at the other keeper. He is pale, with bruises under his eyes, expression wary as he looks around the restaurant, and Marc thinks that Bernd is only just keeping himself together. They don’t linger for fear of being recognised due to the media focus on Bernd, and are back at his apartment within half an hour.

They end up spending the morning watching documentaries and listening to the still ridiculous amounts of texts and calls coming into Bernd’s phone. He’s ignoring them all, only replying back to texts from his agent, his coach and his family, but the constant buzzing is starting to get really annoying, and when Christoph calls for the third time in a row, Marc nearly snaps.

“If he calls one more time, I’m going to pick up the phone and tell him to fuck off,” Marc threatens half-seriously. “Which part of ‘I'm fine’ doesn’t he understand?”

“He’s just concerned,” Bernd shrugs listlessly, then gets up, ignoring his vibrating phone because yeah, it’s Lars this time. “I need to take a shower.”

The dead tone and expression is starting to get on Marc’s nerves now; he really didn’t sign up to this. He didn’t even have to be here, really, because he had no responsibility for Bernd; regardless of what the _thing_ between them is, it wasn’t his job to cheer the fucker up if he didn’t want cheering up, and the impulsive flight up is starting to look like the bad idea he knew it would be.

 _‘You offered,’_ his brain admonishes him unhelpfully, and he tells it to shut-up because he hadn’t really wanted to and only did it because his conscience wouldn’t leave him alone. But then Marc notices the stiffness in Bernd’s back as the other man leaves the room and it’s not the one usually a result of anger or frustration or discomfort – it’s a stance that he’s never seen before.

Then he remembers the circumstances of Bernd’s benching and he thinks back to those awful attacks in Paris those months back, how he was so incredibly worried for his friends, sending them all text messages to make sure they were okay, and fuck, how he could he forget that _Bernd was there_. It’s different circumstances now, but similar enough, and fear is still fear, and Marc wants to kick himself for not seeing it earlier. Running his hands through his hair in frustration, he’s slightly concerned because he’s not exactly got a lot of “cheering someone up” material available here that wouldn’t result in him getting punched in the face for being an idiot, because Bernd had only ever reacted to stress through football and-

Okay so maybe cheering up isn’t what Bernd wanted after all; people dealt with stressful situations differently and maybe the reason why he had offered to fly over and the other keeper had accepted was because they both understood that if anyone could help in this situation, that was Marc. And he kinda wants to kick himself again because their years of history should have made the solution obvious, but hell, better late than never.

The sound of running water tells him that Bernd’s already in the shower and if he's going to do this, he had better get a move on. Stripping as he heads to the bathroom, he sifts through his memories, trying to find the most appropriate approach to this rather unique situation.

Bernd doesn’t even notice him when he enters the bathroom because he has his forehead resting on the tiles, just standing there under the shower, and even from here, Marc can see from his body language that what Bernd wants to do is _forget_ , and okay, _that_ he can do. They actually do that quite well (years of practice of conveniently forgetting that the person they’re having such mind-blowing sex with is someone they rather hate), so he’s about 70% sure he’s not going to get punched in the face by being there. He hesitates only a fraction before he steps under the water and leans into Bernd to rest his forehead on the back of the other keeper’s water-slicked neck, and though Bernd starts in surprise, he doesn’t move, and for silent moments, they stand like this, just enjoying the feel of warm water and the skin-on-skin contact.

 _‘This is nice_ ,’ Marc’s brain purrs, and Marc mentally snorts when he feels his dick twitch as though in agreement. So with his libido well and truly up for Mission Forgetfulness, he starts mouthing the skin his lips have access to, slowly moving up from the base of Bernd’s neck to just below his earlobe where Marc knows his rival is sensitive as fuck, and is relieved when he hears Bernd release a soft moan, feels his back stiffen in that particular way that says he's concentrating on the sensation. Marc’s about 99.93% sure he isn’t going to get punched in the face now, so after a few more minutes of enjoying this, he turns Bernd around and crashes their mouths together.

And yep, Bernd reacts exactly as Marc hopes he would, getting aggressive, nipping and sucking almost desperately. Their hands start roaming everywhere without any particular direction and Marc steps closer into Bernd so that they are touching from toes to torso and they can grind their hips into each other.

 _'This is new_ ,’ his brain observes in pleasant surprise, filing away this little piece of information for future use.

‘ _This feels_ amazing,' his dick approves enthusiastically, ' _we should do this more often._ ’

Marc wants to internally snap ‘ _shut up, we're on a mission here’,_ but he’s having a hard time concentrating on the real reason why they are having shower sex in the first place because it just feels so fucking good. So before what little part of his brain that’s still functioning completely abandons him, he shifts away from Bernd until there is just enough space between them for Marc to reach down to take hold of the other keeper’s erection.

“Fuck!” Bernd exclaims, breaking off from the desperate kissing, breathing becoming more ragged by the second. Marc twists his hand _just so,_ causing Bernd’s neck to arch back so that his head makes contact with the shower walls with a dull thud, and he can’t suppress the smirk, the groan coming out from the other keeper's mouth turning Marc on to impossibly higher levels. Even more pleased, his brain starts supplying suggestions on how to touch, stroke, palm in all the ways Bernd’s reacted enthusiastically to before, and Marc’s happily doing so, lightly nipping at the base of Bernd’s neck, until he suddenly feels someone's hand on his painfully hard dick and his brain stutters an ‘ _oh shiiiiiiiiit’_ in surprise.

Now that his brain is completely useless to him because someone is jerking them off oh so wonderfully, Marc stops thinking altogether and drops his forehead on Bernd’s shoulder, unconsciously sucking into the other man’s collarbone, temporarily forgetting that they were supposed to be the one giving pleasure, not the other way around. Marc tries, he really does, to go back to the original mission, but Bernd’s hand is doing some truly sinful things to his dick and how the fuck did Bernd know he to get the best reaction out of him?

[Well, logic would suggest that if Marc had a deep mental file on ‘Things Bernd Likes During Sex’ then it wouldn’t be hard to assume that Bernd had a file on him as well. Duh.]

He can feel his stomach tightening more and more, and when he knows he's close, Marc braces his arms against the tiles to support himself, then comes like he hasn’t in a long time, mind obliterated for a few seconds, Bernd’s hands only slowing slightly until he has to pull away from hypersensitivity. As his breathing eventually goes back to normal and Marc floats down from his high, he forcefully re-activates his brain by saying _‘that wasn’t part of the plan!’_

 _‘I know, I know,’_ his now functioning-again brain agrees in a mild panic, _‘we need damage control!’_ And before Marc can change his mind, he slides to his knees and takes Bernd in his mouth.

“Holy _fuck!_ Fuck, fuck _, shit!_ ” Bernd gasps in surprise, one hand involuntarily going to Marc’s neck and the other to the wall behind him.

They rarely do this; Marc can count on one hand the amount of times either of them had given head in the years that they’d been hooking up, and he wonders idly for a split second why they don’t. From the glorious sounds Bernd’s making, though, the other keeper isn’t exactly complaining about Marc’s lack of experience, but he supposes applying all the things _he_ loves when on the receiving end of a blow job is good enough for now.

When Bernd finally comes, Marc swallows him down, doesn’t stop until he’s completely spent and practically collapsing against the tiles, weakly nudging Marc away. Marc takes his time getting up from the floor, trailing open mouth kisses on Bernd's skin on the way up, before the other keeper pulls him forward with a hand to his neck. They stay like this for a few more minutes, sated bodies relaxing against each other while trading lazy kisses, and Marc can’t help but agree when his brain proclaims ‘ _job well done.’_

They end up sleeping the early afternoon away, only getting up later in the evening for food, both hungry after having skipped lunch.

When Christoph recommences his back-to-back calling, Marc finally picks up the phone before Bernd can stop him.

“He’s fine, Chris,” he says by way of greeting.

There’s a pause, before Christoph asks, “Marc?”

“Was there any particular reason why you’re calling? Because if you’re just checking up on him, he’s fine.”

“That’s a relief,” Christoph says after another short pause. “And how long will he be fine for?”

“Until tomorrow morning, you can bug him again after then.”

“Good. That’s good to know,” and Marc can almost see his friend nodding his head.

He tosses the phone back to Bernd when he hangs up, and settles back deeper into the couch for another few hours of mindless TV. “I’ve just bought you 12 hours of silence, yes I’m awesome and you’re welcome.”

Bernd just rolls his eyes.

His flight back is at the same stupid time as his flight in, so after back-to-back episodes of food shows, they spend the remaining hours indulging in their favourite past time. It’s not a cure all, but Marc’s pretty sure that from the way Bernd is humming along to the radio on the way to the airport that it’s Mission Accomplished – and concedes that maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all.

 _'Told you,'_ his brain says smugly.

 _'That was fun',_ his dick adds.

 _'Shut up',_ he tells them both, before putting on his headphones and waiting for take off.

**Author's Note:**

> My reward to myself after a good study session.
> 
> \--  
> I have a [tumblr account ](https://khalehla.tumblr.com) for my writings and random ficlets. If you have a question about this or any of my other stories, come say hi :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I write **_fiction_** about real people. As far as I know, none of these events ever happened; any resemblance to any actual events are purely coincidental.  
>  \--


End file.
